


Her Reality

by GalaxyAqua



Category: Dangan Ronpa - All Media Types, New Dangan Ronpa V3: Everyone's New Semester of Killing
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Gen, Pre-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-23
Updated: 2018-01-23
Packaged: 2019-03-08 13:06:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,243
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13458873
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GalaxyAqua/pseuds/GalaxyAqua
Summary: He’s the only one that’s ever felt real to her, so she holds on – onto the strings of her own creation – tight as tight can be.





	Her Reality

**Author's Note:**

> major v3 spoilers (including amami's original talent, though not stated explicitly)

The candlelight was dim, its reflection in Shirogane’s glasses swaying softly as she trekked her pen across the faint lines of the page, writing diligently away.

Familiar words rose from the ink — culprit, victim, suspect, death — and Shirogane was numb to all of them, breathing the same tropes she’d breathed since she was first hired by _Team Danganronpa._

‘Hired’ was a term used loosely — perhaps she was scouted or brainwashed or coerced into or maybe she signed up for it; the stories spun on until the truth was so muddied not even she remembered clearly. People would call it what they wanted. In her mind, her job was her job, and that was all it was.

In the small basement library, Amami sat across from her, the same guarded smile as always; fingers tap, tap, tapping on the tabletop.

“Think you’ve figured out the culprit, already?” He asked, tone too light, but not light enough for her taste. If she could tweak him just a little, he would be the perfect formula for a friend. If she could get him a place in a series of _Danganronpa_ , fiddle with his memories and — _no, she couldn’t do that to him_. _He wasn’t a character she could play with; he was real_. _He was real._ She banished these thoughts from her mind.

Pulling a lock of hair behind her ear, and signing off her final sentence with flick of her wrist, she answered, “One more episode and we’ll both find out.”

“Please.” Amami smirked knowingly, leaning back in his chair. The tapping stopped. “You’ve never been wrong before.”

“There’s always a first for everything.” She told him, despite his words being nothing but the truth. She was watching episodes ahead, after all. While they happened, before they aired. Yet she still kept up this ruse of not knowing — this disguise of blending in with the crowd. It was what she did best.

With a clap of the clipboard, she secured the papers holding her notes and theories, and twirled it across the table into his waiting hands. “Add anything you like.” She said primly. “You’re the _Danganronpa_ expert here.”

Amami laughed. Shirogane hated that laugh.

“Don’t flatter me with your lies.” He said, gaze catching her own. “I’m just along for the ride. You’re doing all the work around here, Shirogane-san.”

Shirogane pursed her lips to fight a frown, spinning her pens towards him as she batted nonchalant lashes. Swiftly, she changed the topic. “I ask you this with all the heart I possess, Amami-kun, but do you think your sister will survive this season?”

Amami stilled, pink pen hovering above her words. “Who knows.” He said, ever so carefully, before beginning his annotations on her work. “Who knows.”

Shirogane bit back the “I do,” as she recalled the younger Amami’s corpse sprawled across the kitchen floor and the deafening screams of her classmates echoing down the hall.

 

__

 

To be completely and utterly honest, she was never fond of the ‘childhood friends’ trope.

Shallowly, Shirogane would say it was because she found it boring. Plain and simple. It never thrilled her as much as stories of frosty girls having their hearts warmed by reckless, boisterous boys — or was ever as sweet as a classic extrovert adopts introvert love story. She would never write a childhood friends story; it simply wasn't her style.

Yet when Shirogane pondered it further, it may have been because Amami was her childhood friend, and why was it that childhood friends rarely got a happy ending? Did people always simply find someone better? Were childhood friends always meant to fade into memories and little more?

She sighed at the notion. An ending like that would be just plain boring.

They were such cute childhood friends too — at least, once upon a time.

See, Shirogane and Amami used to sit at the television and swap theories and trade maps and watched _Danganronpa_ until the sun rose the next day. The mysteries were always so enticing, and when he predicted things correctly, she’d see his eyes light up a thousand different ways and together they laughed and laughed and laughed.

His laugh sounded better then, and so did hers, together a euphoric cacophony only silenced by scolding, which Shirogane had found incredibly unfair.  

They were constantly told they had to be happy, and when they’d laugh, they’d receive reprimand?

Amami would often just laugh again, bonk her on the head and say, “Let’s laugh louder next time. What’s the point in life if we’re not having fun?”

“You’re having too much fun sometimes.” She would mutter, ever the goody-two-shoes in the presence of authority. “Why can’t you take things seriously for once?”

“Life’s better lived carefree.”

“Life’s better lived carefully planned out.” She replied sharply.

“Agree to disagree.” Amami would shrug, in the way he always did when he didn’t care much to argue further, because that was the frustratingly relaxed kind of guy he was. _She could change that. She knew she could._

She would never do that to him.

Yet despite their differences, Shirogane often thought that she was fortunate that she had met Amami, for her father was far too busy with _Danganronpa_ business to care for her, and her mother was a ceaselessly hard working woman who made _Danganronpa_ survivors rich and famous; ignoring every bit of sadness that used to tug at Shirogane’s heart for the poor characters that had to see all their friends die and then have people congratulate them for emerging alive.

Back then, Amami smiled when she told him this too, patting her on the shoulder and saying, “Don’t worry! It’s all a show! They signed up for it knowing the consequences, and they know that now they have to deal with it.”

“That’s cold, Amami-kun,” Shirogane used to say.

“You know _I’d_ never sign up for _Danganronpa_. That’d be like signing a death wish, no matter how much money you could win. You’d never be the same after you go in.” Amami would answer, confident twinkle in his eyes, “It’s much more interesting to watch from this side of the screen, don’t you think?”

“Yes.” Shirogane mumbled. “It is.”

“The only people who would sign up for it are people with nothing to lose.” Amami hummed, tapping his temple. “Or people who’ve deluded themselves into thinking a killing game would be easy.”

“Isn’t it just a game, Amami-kun? There’s rules, there’s regulations… in theory, anybody could win.”

He laughed. “It’s never just a game, Shirogane-san. No-one I know would be crazy enough to try it.”

Then cut to a few — or perhaps many — years later when she remembered Amami and his sister screaming at each other in the dining hall while the younger girl waved her _Danganronpa_ acceptance letter in her older brother’s face.

“Why didn’t you ask me first?!” He’d yelled, and his sister only glowered back.

“Like you even care! Shirogane-san might as well be your sister, you hang out with her so much!”

Shirogane stiffened in her seat but said nothing.

She had accepted the application. She was the one who said _yes_ with finality because she thought it would make it more interesting. The younger Amami, a little spitfire of a girl, she’d wash out and give her older brother’s personality — and Amami would be able to see himself in _Danganronpa_ as his sister plays him. That was Shirogane’s intention.

“When I win, you better beg me for forgiveness.” Amami’s sister muttered. “Stupid big brother.”

“Come back to me alive.” He replied, watching her go, the first crack in his perfect carefree mask starting to form. “That’s all I beg of you.”

 

__

 

She didn’t.

Shirogane watched the very second Amami realized his sister wasn’t coming back and thought, _it’s about time you had some real character development._

 _Stop it,_ she’d scold herself. Amami was real. Amami was not a character she could play with. He was real. Treat him as such. _Comfort him, like he used to comfort you._

“I’m sorry.” She said. Her words stopped there. Sudden and awkward, she adjusted her glasses and tried to look sorry.

“It’s… fine.” Amami smiled back at her, an even and familiar quirk of his lips, but it looked off – it looked wrong. “You couldn’t have known.”

Shirogane only nodded, voice meek. “You’re right, nobody could have known.”

_Liar, liar, liar._

It was a shame. She was wrong all along.

Wrong about _him._

His character only began to disappoint her from then on forward.

And just as she feared, there came a time when their childhood friends trope returned to wedge a gap between them that couldn’t be repaired.

“Did you watch the latest episode?” She beamed as he cracked open his front door, but Amami just appraised her tiredly. He had slapped on some concealer half-heartedly, but Shirogane could still see the dark circles and red rims of his eyes. So achingly real. 

“I have a recording.” He said, beckoning her inside, and dragging his feet towards the television. Disappointing. He was so… disappointing.

Nowadays, he’d never beam as brightly, or look nearly as enthused when Shirogane brought him her findings, but he’d never refuse them, scanning them line by line as if they’d give him the answers he needed – the cure for whatever ailed him, so far away from Shirogane as he was now.

She was losing him.

Shirogane never told him the secret to her theories; she revelled in being called a genius, but when Amami no longer had the energy to praise her, she felt herself begin to whittle away, confidence slowly crumpling with every distant smile and every invitation declined.

At this rate, they’d reach another boring ending, and after all they’d been through, Shirogane can only be disappointed.

She would never admit it but she missed his brilliance, missed the thrill of being outwitted in conversation, missed having a social crutch in crowds, missed the thousands of ways he would smile – and the ways she would learn to read every single one.

Yet here it was: her best friend, slipping away, far away, and she couldn’t stop or reach him.

So she drowned herself in what she had left – _Danganronpa._

She became the perfect employee. The perfect pawn. The perfect scapegoat.

Her father did all the dirty work, then threw it off into her brain with a series of complex operations — made it hers — so he could wipe his hands clean when the time came. It was alright. Shirogane loved _Danganronpa_. She was nothing without it.  _Danganronpa_ was her life.

So, mindlessly, she dedicated herself entirely to _Team Danganronpa_ , and ignored the fact that it tore her only real life friendship apart.

 

__

 

She was numb and obsessed.

Coldly, she watched countless bodies fall at the hand of her father’s company, and all she did was smile, keeping her eyes trained on the ratings as she’d been instructed to. The higher they'd climb, the happier she'd get, scanning audience reviews day by day by day. Just as she'd been instructed to.

Keeping her hands flying over the keyboards, just as she’d been instructed to. Leading the culprits of vicious murder, kicking and screaming towards their executions, just as she’d been instructed to.

Her father commended her for her efforts, for making _Danganronpa_ even better and better. 

Often, he’d asked her if she would like to join the world she adored so much, become her own character, live out her own story, and she always had the same reply.

“This is not my time yet.”

 

—

 

It was season 52 that would jumpstart Shirogane’s heart again.

All at once, it began to race as a familiar figure stepped into her field of vision. His hair had grown longer, still that pretty green she remembered, and he was almost exactly as she imagined he'd grow up to be - only he had dropped the smile completely.

Here, in the courtyard, Amami held a blank application form for the 52nd season of _Danganronpa_ out to her.

“Ah, do you want me to –” Shirogane began to ask, wondering if the offering implied that she meant so little to him that he’d let her agree to signing to her own death or if she meant so much to him that he wanted her to be a part of the world on the other side of the screen they so adored as children, but she cut herself off at the sight of his expression.

“I’m auditioning for _Danganronpa_.” He told her, letting the empty sheet float to the ground between them. It’s the last thing he said before turning on his heel. Shirogane could do nothing but stare helplessly after him, before leaning down to grab the sheet, holding it close.

“Well then, so am I.” She whispered.

 

—

 

“What are you doing here?”

Shirogane smiled at him. “I’m here to cheer you on at auditions, Amami-kun.”

“Cheer me on,” he scoffed. “Audience members aren’t allowed to watch live auditions.”

“I hope you get accepted.” Shirogane told him sweetly.

“You want me to die that badly? That’s cold, Shirogane-san.”

“I want you to live.” Shirogane said truthfully, pressing her palms together. “For your own sake, please live, Amami-kun.”

 

__

 

He had to survive. That was Shirogane’s intention.

She would make him survive.

He requested to be the same talent as his sister, but Shirogane didn’t want a repeat of last time.

If Amami was going to become a Danganronpa character, then Shirogane would save her best for him. He’d be the charming and mysterious traveller, the young adventurer who had barely escaped the jaws of death on multiple occasions — a cool, dashing hero.

She’d give him those piercings he was scared of, and the talent to endure and endure and endure.

Then she fabricated every other personality - all the friends and foes she would write into their new life together. Their personalities had to be brighter than hers, her formulas had to outshine the boring, boring girl that was Shirogane Tsumugi.

Ah, but she wasn’t Shirogane Tsumugi anymore, was she?

She wrote herself a new face, too.

Yes, she’d play a new role, and erase any memory of Shirogane from Amami’s history — she’d form a new friendship with the perfect version of Amami that she had created and their childhood friends trope would be banished forever and ever.

It was her first season playing, and she delighted in the thrill of it. She had never had more fun than being in the killing game itself, being on-screen rather than behind, and all she could think of was that Amami was wrong all this time. It was so much better to participate than to watch; to feel the despair firsthand. To watch her characters bloom and blossom by her side.

It was intoxicatingly beautiful.

They died so quickly, so easily. They fell so much faster in front of her eyes.

She watched Amami take the leading voice in class trials, and felt a swell of pride. He was just the way she had written. Just the way she had wanted. 

And when it reached the 52nd end, where only Amami and her were left standing, she relished in the way he would look at her with disgust and contempt. He never looked at her like that before. He was always so friendly, so sweet, so saccharine. That was her childhood friend.

This was Amami Rantarou, her ideal, perfect friend. One that hated her, despised her, vowed to defeat the mastermind, and instead signed himself up for another round of the game he used to love so much. The game that ruled Shirogane’s life – the game that broke their real life friendship apart. The game that brought him back to her.

“Let’s play again, Amami-kun.” She said, peeling off her wig and her costume and her fake talent and her fake smile, and becoming Shirogane again.

She pretended she didn’t pause to see if he’d recognize her.

He didn’t.

He looked defeated and broken as he pushed past her, into the throng of excited _Danganronpa_ staff who would prepare him for the next season. They showered him with praise and adoration, with everything he could have ever wished for, but Shirogane knew he was thinking he’d rather die than go through it all again.

It was a shame, really. Shirogane smoothed her skirt as her father called out to her; a cold congratulations.

"Congratulate Amami-kun," She suggested instead.

"I don't need your congratulations." Amami whispered, tone venomous as he passed by Shirogane again. "I need you to end this once and for all."

In the end, he was so perfect, and yet he was still such an utter disappointment.

 

__

 

They entered the 53rd season of _Danganronpa_ as strangers again.

Ironically, Shirogane peeled back her mask to enter as plain, plain old Shirogane Tsumugi — a mask in and of itself. She had played Shirogane as long as she could remember, and more than anything, she knew how to seamlessly become Shirogane.

Shirogane watched her father shake hands with every participant, and joined the line in a most inconspicuous fashion.

“Amami-kun!”

“You…” Amami scanned her in confusion which quickly evolved into hostility. “You… look different from last time.”

"It's a little troublesome that you recognize me but that will be fixed soon enough," Shirogane smiled. “We both agreed we wanted this killing game to begin again, didn’t we? To continue, no matter what?”

“We didn’t.” Amami answered sharply.

"You're forgetful, Amami-kun." She sighed, pursing her lips. "We were going to win the killing game together, be the last two standing again. Isn't that what you wanted?"

"I think you're delusional."

"I think you're afraid of admitting the truth." Shirogane said with a smile. "You enjoy this."

"No, I don't." His eyes narrowed at her. "Only people like you enjoy this sort of sick thing."

"I told you your punishment would be playing again and you," She looked at him smugly, "Accepted."

"Because the only other option was to die." He hissed. "And now I'm thinking maybe I should have."

“You signed up for it knowing the consequences, and now you have to deal with it.” She smiled again, knowing well he wouldn’t recognize her echo of his own words. He would never remember Shirogane from his childhood, and soon he wouldn’t remember her role in the 52nd game either and she was more than content with that. “Do you have your video, Amami-kun?”

He wouldn’t remember anything. He would be a blank slate. Suspicious of everyone. Trying to make sense of this world he once knew back to front. Even his talent would be a mystery.

He would be so lost. So cautious. So distant from the others. The perfect victim.

She found the role she wanted him to play. One that will stir the viewers and still her heart.

She’d finally made him fictional, with not a single attachment to her and that was how it was supposed to be. Every part of each iteration of Amami she knew and didn’t like was wiped.

She was going to preserve this perfect version of Amami. No matter what.

He’d die the tragic and mysterious hero. No matter what.

This was the ending she had chosen for Amami Rantarou.

He was the only one that had ever felt real to her, that had ever been real to her, but he wasn’t real anymore.

He would never be real again.

And in the end,

neither would she.


End file.
